


The Talk

by orphan_account



Series: Imagines!Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Reader-Insert, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:22:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5429558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You'd managed to keep yourself withdrawn and unaffected until you started watching that damned Netflix. Damn Castiel and his binge-watching. Damn him for getting you hooked on it too. And most of all, damn the stupid people on the screen who prompted you to ask the Winchesters the most idiotic question of your life:</p><p>'What's sex?'</p><p>*based on anon imagine on allsupernaturalimagines.tumblr.com*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel was right about the Netflix. While Dean and Sam were out and hunting some nefarious thing or other, he'd gotten you hooked on it.

"Y/N!" He'd said excitedly. "Look at this!" Castiel had dragged you over to the TV, plopping you onto the crappy couch. "Y/N! Look, there's a thing, it's called Netflix-- on the TV!"

"I don't like the TV." You frowned. "It's too loud and too bright. The humans act silly."

"Humans always act silly," said Castiel, very matter-of-factly. 

"Except Sam," you said defensively. Sam wasn't silly. Sam was the smartest human you knew.

"And Dean," said Cas.

"And Dean," you agreed. "What's the problem with the TV? With the Netflix?"

"Just Netflix; it's a TV channel or something," Cas explained earnestly. "It has all these shows on it, and they're really good! There's this one where this man solves crimes, and his boyfriend helps him, and they live in England, and--" Cas cut himself off. "Only problem is, there's about nine episodes. But they're all really good!"

"Nine episodes?" You asked. You weren't quite sure how the intellectual Castiel had gotten sucked in by this Netflix thing. It seemed a bit stupid. "You watched nine episodes on the television?"

"Nine episodes straight," Cas confirmed.

"Straight?" You could hardly believe it. "Castiel, that can hardly be good for you--"

"It's great for me!" Castiel protested. "It's like-- all of this horrible stuff going on, it all goes away when the gay detectives are on screen. They make me feel better."

"Gay detectives?" This didn't sound intellectual at all.

"Who solve crime."

"In England?"

"Yes." Castiel smiled, and you saw past his childlike excitement and looked at his sad eyes. He was suffering from all of this, and if this gay show made him feel better, maybe you should support him. "You should watch it; then I'll have someone to talk to."

"Cas, you always have someone to talk to," you'd reminded.

"Not about the detectives! No one else has seen the show. Please, Y/N. Just watch one episode, and if you don't like it, you'll never have to watch it again. I promise."

And that's how you ended up here, on the second series, watching a really pretty lady talk about things you didn't understand. You were watching alone; Cas was out, doing something, and you hadn't been able to wait until he got back to start the second series. A man had the gay detectives at gunpoint, and the tall dark-haired detective had pointed his gun at explosives, to kill them all. You had to see what happened!

So you started the second series, enthralled. However, it soon became clear to you that you would be having trouble understanding this episode. The leading lady was some sort of shady businesswoman, that much you got. But you weren't quite sure what a dominatrix was, and you had no idea what 'sex' meant.

You finished the episode out, happy to see that the dark detective had changed his mind and gone to save the sex lady, who he'd essentially handed over to a terrorist group. You sat on the couch for several minutes. The Netflix was suggesting the next episode, one about a dog, but you weren't sure you could continue. What if they kept talking about sex? You had to know what it was. Otherwise you were positive things would get confusing.

Before you could seriously contemplate using the hotel Internet to Gogoggle what this sex thing was, Sam and Dean returned.

"Sam!"

You leapt up from the couch, forgetting about sex for a moment. Sam had been away too long; you'd missed him terribly. Castiel teased you about it, but you knew he felt the same way about Dean. Cas was always on edge when Dean went on a hunt, and so it was with Sam and you. Perhaps God had no plan for Sam that required resurrection-- it didn't matter to you. You didn't know much of anything, but you knew that Sam was special. No matter what anyone thought, Sam was just as special as Dean. Maybe even more so.

"Sam! Sam! How did the hunt go?" You bubbled. You clung to him. He smelled like smoke, but otherwise looked fine, save for a little cut on his cheekbone. "Did everything go okay? You smell like smoke!"

"The hunt went fine," Sam said. "How did you and Cas do?"

"We did fine, of course. Why wouldn't we?" Sometimes Sam said things you didn't understand. Obviously you were fine. Was he so concerned that he had to ask anyway?

Sam shrugged. 

"Sammy." You heard Dean's deep voice coming from behind Sam's tall form. "Would you mind getting out of the doorway?"

Sam stepped into the threshold, and you found yourself a bit nervous as he passed by you and set the weapons bag down on a table. You were itching to watch the next episode, but you had to know what that word meant. Sex. But you didn't quite know how to ask.

Dean prowled into the room, a smirk on his handsome face as well as a fair amount of blood.

"Dean!" You exclaimed. "Your face! What's wrong with your face?"

Sam snorted. "Waited my whole life for a girl to say that to you."

Dean shot his younger brother a look. "My face is fine, Y/N." He chuckled. "I just got a little messy."

You crinkled your nose. You weren't sure why you felt so uncomfortable. It was just a word, right? Surely it didn't mean anything bad. They wouldn't say a vulgar word on the gay detectives show.

"Sam," you started uneasily. "Dean."

Dean hardly looked up from the weapons bag when you spoke; he was unzipping it and pulling out a knife to sharpen. Sam, however, looked over to you from where he stood by the sink, washing his bloody hands, his eyes curious. 

"Yeah?" He prompted.

You cocked your head, smiled innocently, and asked, "What's sex?"

\---------

Sam's eyes widened. He hadn't misheard, and hadn't thought he misheard. He knew right away what you said. Dean, on the other hand, was convinced he must have heard you wrong.

"What?" He was staring at you. They both were. "What?" You repeated.

"Did you just ask what sex is?" Dean asked. He turned to his younger brother. "Sam, tell me she didn't just ask us what sex is."

Sam seemed unable to respond. He just gaped at you. You shifted. You were starting to feel anxious. Perhaps the gay detectives show HAD taught you a bad word after all? 

Sam blinked several times, and you noticed the second he started blushing. 

You furrowed your brow. "Did I say something stupid?" They hadn't reacted this way since you asked them why alcohol made Sam poetic. You wished fervently that you hadn't spoken. 

Dean—who usually looked entirely unaffected and anything but shy—looked at you in a manner that could only be described as embarrassed. “No, it’s just…” He said, and then he laughed. “I just never thought I’d be giving an angel the Talk.”

You sat down on the arm of the couch, smoothing your white nightgown for something to do. “What’s the Talk?”

Sam stepped in, because Dean didn’t seem to be able to form a coherent sentence. “Well, the Talk is…” he made a face like he was wincing. You wondered if he’d lied about the hunt going well. Maybe he’d gotten hurt? Come to think of it, they both looked like they were in pain. “It’s kind of a discussion that adults generally have with their children when they reach a certain age.” Sam cleared his throat. “So, uh, when these kids hit a certain age where they… start to grow, their parents know it’s time for them to have the Talk.”

You were just getting even more confused. “To grow?”

Dean cut in. “Well, when the kids start looking more like teenagers than babies. That’s when you need to have the Talk.”

“Oh.” You tried to let that be it, and let the subject drop, but you were pretty sure that you hadn’t gotten your answer yet. “So what does this have to do with sex?”

Sam cleared his throat. “Well, the Talk… is about sex. Which is why we’re going to give you the Talk, because clearly you need to learn about this.” Sam was growing pinker by the minute, and Dean was hardly any better. Did they have a fever? Or were they really that embarrassed by this sex thing? By the Talk?

“So,” Dean started, “when a man and a woman, uh, really like each other—”

“Or a man and a man, or a woman and a woman—or people who don’t identify as either,” Sam inserted.

Dean nodded. “Right. When people—usually two, sometimes it’s more than that—really feel that they like each other a lot, they might have sex.”

Like each other? “Does that mean we have sex?” You asked, gesturing to the three of you. Dean and Sam both looked away from you, getting even more uncomfortable. “What? What? I like both of you, and you said—”

“It’s a little different from like,” Sam revised. “It’s… well, there’s this chemical reaction that goes on in your body, so when you find someone appealing in a sexual manner, you feel something called—uh—lust, and it… well, it’s this feeling, it makes you want to have sex with the person you find appealing.”

You still didn’t see what was so embarrassing. But you also had no idea what sex was.

“So, is sex like an object? An emotion?” You felt your brow furrowing. “Is it like a CD? I remember someone saying Dean has a lot of it, and he has a lot of music in Baby…”

For some reason, this made Sam laugh. Dean scowled at Sam. “It’s not right to laugh at a confused angel,” he said.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Sam said. Dean seemed to have no response. 

You smoothed your hair back, away from your face. Your brow furrowed. "So it's a CD?" You repeated uncertainly. That didn't sound right. "Who sings it? What's the band?"

Dean cut in again, an expression on his face that made you super uncomfortable. "Y/N," he said, "sex isn't a CD, or a band. It's an action. It's something people do to feel good."

You tilted your head. "What do you do?" You asked. "How do you sex?"

Dean stared at you for a couple seconds before snorting out a laugh that sounded like a surrender. He rubbed a hand over his jawline. "Sam, I can't do this. You gotta take over for me." He latched onto his younger brother's arm and jerked him forward, blocking himself from you like you were dangerous. Well, you were, but you weren't going to hurt him, and he knew that, so why was he acting so weird?

"Me?" Sam protested. "But--"

"Do you think it'd be easier to just show me?" You asked, feeling very much like you regretted ever watching the gay detectives show. No queer couple could justify this uncomfortableness. You were sure the doctor and the sociopath would understand; the doctor seemed uncomfortable around the sex lady too-- maybe this was why. Maybe sex was an uncomfortable thing. Now that you thought about it, the sex lady kept a riding crop on her-- and she'd beaten the sociopath unconscious. Maybe sex really WAS dangerous. You shifted, smoothing the skirt of your pure white nightgown.

"Show you?!" Sam choked out. He whirled back at Dean, who was covering his smirk with his hand-- very poorly, at that. What was so funny? "Dean, stop LAUGHING. This isn't funny! She's like Cas but-- but a million times worse!"

"Hey, I like Cas!" You said, although your amiable feelings towards the angel were dwindling the more this awkward conversation dragged on.

"No, Y/N, I like Cas too, I just meant--" Sam shook his head. "Nevermind." He played with the cuff of his flannel sleeve, looking dismayed. "What was I talking about?"

"You were doing to show me what sex was, I think," you provided, trying to be helpful. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bride of his nose. You noticed that he was turning a slight shade of pink.

Dean whistled. "Sam, why do you always get hit on by the weird ones?"

You squinted at him. "Hit on?" You really wished Dean would stop smirking at the two of you, considering the fact that HE was the one who's panicked and thrust Sam into this situation as his replacement. "I didn't even touch him! I would never hit Sam--" You frowned at Dean again. "And I'm not weird." You crossed your arms.

"Right," said Dean. "How old's your vessel again, Y/N?"

You strained your mind to recall. "Twenty-three, I think. How long is a year again?" Humans had such weird time frames. Why celebrate years? They were short. One every sixty minutes, right? Or was that hours?

"Right," repeated Dean. "You're a perfectly normal, twenty-year old, unpossessed girl, who just had no idea what sex is."

"Right," you said. "I'm not possessed. The girl welcomed divinity into her body. She wanted me to redeem her."

"You possessed her," said Dean shortly, dismissively.

"Dean," Sam said, cutting in from where he stood, hand covering his face and looking like he wanted to melt. "Why are you making this even more uncomfortable for her? And me?"

Dean shrugged. "It's not everyday you give the sex talk to an angel. Just trying to do a really good job."

"What does possession have to do with sex?" Sam demanded, taking his hands away from his good-looking face. He glared at a smirking Dean for a minute before declaring, "You're such a jerk."

"Bitch," Dean fired back naturally.

"Humans," you muttered under your breath.

Sam sighed, running his fingers through his soft-looking hair. "Listen, Y/N..." He made a face. You tried very hard not to giggle. As uncomfortable as the situation was, you just couldn't help it when Sam made funny faces. It cracked you up. In an attempt not to offend him, you covered your small pink mouth with your hand, trying to act, well-- trying to act angelically. Sam cleared his throat. Twice. Was he getting a cold? "Uhmm. Okay. So, there's this problem." He winced. "There's a problem with what you're asking us to do, because--well, because it's not something that you just, I dunno, demonstrate." He turned away from you to glare at Dean, who was snickering.

"You're an immature prick, you know that, right?" Sam asked, annoyed. Dean held his hands up in a form of surrender. Sam turned back to you. "So, to put it simply..." Dean snorted. Sam fished a quarter out of his pocket and threw it at him. "Shut UP, Dean!" Sam shoved his hands in his pockets. You knew you should've been focusing on his explanation, but it was so vague and he looked so much like an angry moose that you just beamed at him instead. Sam looked at you, and his face fell. "Damn." He ran a hand over his face again. "Alright. Well, Dean and I can't demonstrate sex for you because it's something that people only do when they feel an extreme intimacy with someone else. It's... a physical thing, so it's body-oriented, but for a lot of people, it means more--and feels better-- when you do it with someone you care about."

You ignored Dean's indiscreet cackling, unsure why he was laughing and hoping that the angry moose would't charge. "So, you?"

"Me?" Sam's brow furrowed.

"Does that mean I would have sex with you?" You asked. "Is that how you say it?"

Sam gaped, and Dean's cackling cut off abruptly. You worried for a moment that he'd choked (he'd been scarfing down some sort of sandwich), but when you saw him staring at you, wide-eyed, you knew that wasn't the case. Besides, of all the things that Dean Winchester had wrestled with, you hardly thought a sandwich would be the thing to take him down for good. 

Sam tried to compose himself. "No, no--that's not what I-- well, I guess, since we're friends, but--" He shook his head. He looked back at Dean helplessly. Dean shook his head too. Sam groaned. "No, Y/N, you wouldn't have sex with me," he said. "I don't even think you have a sex drive."

"Sex drive?" What was THAT? "I thought you said sex had nothing to do with cars."

Dean looked personally offended by this statement, but Sam shot him a look and cut him off before he could speak. "No, it doesn't." Dean made a pained noise. Sam glared at his older brother. "It DOESN'T," he insisted, "unless you're this damn weirdo." He crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall, aiming for a relaxed posture. You were pretty sure the bunker wall was more relaxed than Sam at this point, but you decided not to voice that opinion. "Sex drive, it's your desire to have sex. It can also be called lust, I guess? If you have really strong sex drive, you want to have sex a lot of the time." Sam looked pointedly at Dean. "Here, a real life example! Dean has a strong sex drive." Dean made a face at Sam. It wasn't as funny as when Sam made faces, but it was amusing because he hardly did that-- at least, not around you.

"And Sammy has no sex drive," Dean added.

Sam huffed. "Dean, shut up." He looked to you, opening his mouth. "He's just being a jerk, I do have--" His brow furrowed. "Nevermind. So, when you have sex drive, you want to have sex. If you DON'T have sex drive, then you don't necessarily want to have sex. There are tons of exceptions, of course, but for both of our sake's, I'm going to leave it at that for today."

"Okay..." You were trying to understand this. If you got a really firm grasp on it, maybe you could brag about it to Castiel and teach him something about the humans that he didn't know yet. "What do you do to have sex? It's a physical thing, right? What do you do? And how do you know if you have sex drive?"

Dean stepped forward, smirking like he'd just hustled a game of pool. He clapped Sam on the back. "Sammy here," he began, "has something that is biologically called a p--"

"Dean!" Sam insisted, shoving his older brother off of him. Dean raised his eyebrows, still smirking.

"What's wrong, Sammy? I haven't seen you blush at the 'p' word since you were nine," Dean teased.

"Dean, she's like... she's like a kid. It's weird, you know? Have a little class," Sam said. 

"A pee?" You interjected, confused beyond belief. Maybe you'd have been better off looking it up online or something. "What?"

"Listen, the... terminology isn't important," Sam said, taking a deep breath. "All you need to know is that a male has certain body parts while a female has certain other ones. I'm sure you've noticed that, at least." You nodded. Sam breathed a sigh of relief, and you frowned. How stupid did he think you were? Obviously taking different vessels meant getting different... equipment. "Alright, well the different parts... down there," Sam said, waving a hand in the general direction of his jeans, while Dean snorted again, "they sort of, I guess, go together when you have sex? A male's body will go into the female's."

"What?" That sounded like possession, except with bodies. "What? How do you fit a man inside of a woman's v--"

"No, no no!" Sam said hurriedly, waving his hands. "No, only part of the guy goes in-- the male body part that we sort of talked about? You know what I'm talking about?"

You crinkled your brow. "Don't you pee out of that?"

Sam turned pink and covered his face with his hands, yet again. Dean shook his head, laughing at his brother's misfortune. Since Sam seemed unable to speak, Dean filled in.

"Yes," he said, matter-of-factly. "But you don't pee inside of a woman. Not unless you're a really, REALLY shitty lay."

"Lay?"

"Fuck," Dean explained.

"Fuck?" You were so lost.

Sam stiffened beside Dean. "Dean, WHY did you just teach an angel the 'f' word?" 

Dean elected to ignore his brother, as his brother had done him for the past couple minutes. "Anyway, guys don't pee inside of girls. When you're having sex, if you're a guy, your junk-- that body part that Sam's afraid to name-- it'll get kinda stiff, and you'll reach a point where something else happens inside of the girl."

"But not pee?" You asked for confirmation.

"Not pee," Dean said.

You focused again on Sam, who had taken his hands away from his face and was now mouthing wordlessly at the ceiling. You sincerely hoped he wasn't possessed. "Sam?" You called. "I don't understand."

Sam inhaled. "When you're having sex, if you're a guy, your body will release something into the girl-- or your partner, whoever you're doing it with-- that isn't urine, or anything like that. If it goes into a girl, it'll likely get her pregnant." A look of horror crossed Sam's face. "You know what pregnancy is, right?" You were pretty bad at reading social cues and inferencing, but you were pretty sure Sam was seriously hoping he wouldn't have to explain pregnancy to you.

You nodded. "Yes, with the baby in the uterus." You blinked a couple times. "I didn't realize that males had any part in causing pregnancy."

Dean laughed loudly while Sam turned even pinker. "Our... our participation is over relatively quickly," he said lamely.

"Speak for yourself," you heard Dean mutter. Sam smacked him.

Despite the boys' bickering and their subpar explanations, you were starting to think you had a good idea of what sex was. "Okay," you said, aiming for confidence. "I think I understand. But I'm not quite why people have it?"

Dean shook his head. "You cannot possibly understand sex if you don't know why people have it," he said, sounding mournful.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam said yet again. "Asexuals, remember? They exist."

Dean looked thoughtful. "Right," he said, then he frowned. "Poor bastards."

Sam smoothed his flannel down, fidgeting with his clothing and attempting not to make eye contact with you. "So, this goes back to sex drive. Remember, that's how much you want to have sex?" He asked, finally having to take his eyes off of one of his hundred flannels and look you in the eye. You nodded. "Alright, so most people have sex drive because sex feels good. Really good. And having a sex drive means your body is craving sex, because it feels so good."

You tugged on the hem of your dress again. Just when you thought you had a grasp on it, Sam had to go an add something else. "What does it feel like?"

Sam struggled to find the words. "Um, burning? Kind of?"

Dean whistled. "Sammy, maybe you should get that checked out," he suggested, an amused glint in his eye. 

"Burning?" You asked. "Like, being put in a fireplace? I can't imagine that'd feel good."

Sam sighed. "You know what, Y/N? It's near impossible to describe to you. If you ever feel it, let me know, okay? If you ever, I dunno, interact with someone and your... female parts feel weird, like, warm? I don't know how to describe it. If it ever happens, tell me, I guess? And we'll go from there?"

You were hardly educated, but Sam seemed exhausted and beyond awkward, so you decided to concede, nodding at him and Dean. "Okay. Thanks," you said, and then you spun out of the room, your nightgown fluttering behind you, racing to watch the next episode of the gay detectives show.

\-------

It was almost a year until you gave the conversation a second thought. Sam and Dean had taken you to a bar, and Dean was drinking whiskey and flirting, while Sam was trying to pretend he wasn't aggressively glaring at all the men (and women) who eyed you in your pretty dress. Sometime between then and the conversation, Sam had had to explain flirting and 'checking out' to you, but that conversation went much smoother, and you were pretty sure you fully understood that concept. It certainly explained why men always gaped at you. And here you'd been worried that your vessel was an anomaly. Apparently-- according to Dean-- she was just 'hot.'

"Sam," you said, resting a hand on his arm as he leered at a short man who was winking at you. He turned his head to meet your eyes.

"Yes, Y/N?" He grumped. You knew Sam wasn't fond of going to bars, because he got easily irked by Dean's flirting and his willingness to abandon all hunting business to 'check out' girls. That's why you'd come with them in the first place. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but closed it and frowned. Something felt weird. You tried to concentrate on where it was coming from. It felt vaguely like a stomachache, only a really warm one that didn't hurt. And wasn't in your stomach.

"Y/N?" Sam called, and he immediately looked concerned. This stomachache-not-stomachache strengthened considerably. You gasped. You shifted in your seat, and the brush of the barstool against your bum and panties caused a strange sensation to shoot up your body. Why were you so warm down there? What was...

Your eyes widened. 

"Sam!" You cried, clutching his arm tighter. You beamed at him, excited that you would finally be able to fully understand what he was talking about when he told you about lust. "Sam! I feel it!"

You stared at him earnestly, waiting for him to understand. He didn't seem to comprehend, so you, innocently, started to pull up the hem of your dress. Sam caught your wrists, causing your red skirt to drop back down. He smoothed it down, and gave a weird hand gesture to a man who had whistled at you.

"What are you doing?" He hissed, leaning in, looking at you like you'd gone insane.

You forgot how to answer, because that warm, lusty feeling was back, and it felt really, really good. You shifted on your stool again, enjoying the friction of the seat against your panties. "I feel it," you said again, and you took his wrist in your hand and moved his hand under your skirt before he could protest. When Sam's hand brushed against you, you made an unfamiliar noise that had Sam's eyes widening. 

"Y/N?" He asked faintly. "What are you doing? Why...? My hand really isn't supposed to be there."

"Sam, I told you, I feel that thing you were talking about when you told me about sex," you said eagerly. "And-- and I only feel it when I look at you! Isn't that funny?"

Sam's jaw actually dropped. "What?" He went to pull his hand out from under your skirt, but you protested, holding his hand there, making a mewling noise and squirming against the palm of his hand. You inhaled sharply.

"Sam, I like that," you said. "And hey, remember, I told you that you were my favorite and you told me that you weren't someone I'd want to have sex with? Remember?"

Sam nodded, dazedly.

"Looks like you don't have all the answers," you said cheerfully. Then, going off of your vessel's instinct, you leaned forward and kissed him on the nose, quick and affectionately. You beamed up at him, and after blinking a few times, Sam's confused moose stare softened and he smiled softly at you.

"Looks like," he said, and he gently met his lips with yours.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Got a request for a sex scene-- but a fluffy one? I'm up for the challenge!

Nothing had ever felt so scorchingly pleasant as Sam's hand on your panties. You tried to remember which ones you were wearing, but it was hard to recall with the heady smoke stimulating all of your synapses, distracting you from all coherent thought and fixating your mind on Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam. When Sam kissed you, he'd moved his hand back slightly, and you hadn't gone for that at all-- if anything, you wanted him closer, harder, inside. So you pulled him back to you, and leaned forward on your barstool so you could kiss him more fiercely. When the beautiful static of Sam's lips shocked your lips, you gasped, and you felt him smile against your mouth before slipping his tongue into your mouth. You made a squeaky noise, which was of course muffled by the kiss. He tasted like cedar and cinnamon. You wondered what you tasted like. You couldn't imagine that you'd ever taste as good as he did in that moment.

Despite his vehement flirting, it didn't take Dean long to notice that his brother was making out with an angel.

"Holy--" Dean exclaimed. "Sam--!" He whooped. "Get it, Sam!"

Sam pulled slightly away from you, and when you opened your eyes, you were afraid that you'd see him freaking out. He was looking at you with hazy but adoring eyes, and when he murmured, "can I kill him?" you only giggled. You knew Dean meant well, and that he was always pushing for Sam to get some 'action,' so you didn't quite take it personally. So instead of responding, you pressed a small, sloppy kiss on Sam's lips.

"Am I doing it right?" You asked him, self-consciously. You really hoped so. You really, really hoped that he liked it, and also that he wouldn't ever pull his hand away from your panties, because it felt so damn good. You looked to him for approval, and he smiled cutely at you.

"Yeah," he said. "It's perfect."

Before you could think to kiss him again, Sam leaned down, planted a warm, strong kiss on your collarbone, and started rubbing against the thin fabric of your panties. Your breaths stuttered in your throat, clogging up until a very high-pitched sigh blossomed from your mouth.

"Seriously, Sam, get it, but get it in a room," Dean said. "Not that I'm not up for watching two hot people have sex, but I'm not super interested in watching them when they're my brother and friend."

Sam withdrew from under your skirt, and you whimpered. He pulled a back from you, standing up from his barstool. "Sam!" You protested, grabbing for him. Your hand slipped in his, and you felt your face flush.

He glanced back at you, and he looked so much like lust personified that your legs started shaking. You almost fainted, and Sam caught you with a look of concern. "Y/N?"

"Sam-- Sam, I want to go to the bunker and have sex," you said breathlessly.

Sam blushed. "I don't know if we should-- maybe we should just--"

Sam was cut off by the keening noise of wanting you made when he inadvertently rubbed his hand up and down your back. He inhaled, and with a shake of his head, he started pulling you from the bar, throwing money next to his empty glass to cover his tab. You were scared to speak, scared to ruin the magical spell that'd been cast over Sam, who was so achingly beautiful that you wanted to die.

The two of you were in a maze, stumbling through cold, wet streets, his hands in your hair and your breath making small clouds of mint that he inhaled like a drug. Something special was happening to you, and you felt so much and so overstimulated that you feared you were hallucinating, that this couldn't be real because Sam could never look at you like that, Sam could never pull you close to him against the wall of a building and murmur how much he loved you like he was praying to his only God.

"Y/N," he mumbled, kissing your lips until you were sure they were swollen. "Please, please tell me to stop."

"Why?" You exhaled as he bit your bottom lip. His kisses were apocalyptic. If he let go of you, you'd drop, straight through the blurry pavement and into an endless slumber. There were sensations inside of your stomach that you'd never once felt before, and you wanted them, needed them out, and you wanted Sam to be the one to release them.

"Because..." Sam mumbled, but he seemed to forget the rest of his sentence.

"Sam," you said, and you tugged on the bottom of his shirtsleeve. "Bunker."

You were nervous, but you didn't want to seem like an uneducated baby. You already felt bad enough that he'd had to explain sex to you once. If you had to experience another mortifying situation like that, you would wilt and die. You decided that you could figure out what you were doing as you went, right? It couldn't be that difficult.

You stood on your tiptoes, because Sam had straightened up and was holding you to him, his eyes closed and face like stone. You could only go so far as his collarbone, and that was a stretch. Nonetheless, you plopped a small kiss there, and you heard his breath swell into his lungs at the touch of your lips. You hoped that that meant you were doing good. It felt really good for you, and you could only hope that it felt just as good for Sam.

"Y/N," Sam sighed, running his fingers through your hair before withdrawing from you. You protested, reaching for him, but for a human, he was damn fast. "Y/N, I can't," he pleaded. "I want to-- please, please believe me, but--" He swallowed. "You're not just a virgin, you're... you're an angel. An actual, legitimate angel."

You pouted, ruffling the skirt of your dress and trying to ignore the burning in your lower region. You just had to have Sam, because you sure didn't know how to get rid of the burning in your own, and you didn't want to have sex with anyone else. Not even Dean. It was just Sam, always Sam, only Sam. And you so, so desperately needed him to understand that.

"Sam, I want to," you insisted. With one look at your face, your beautiful eyes and your innocent pout, Sam felt something crumble inside of him.

"I'm going to hell again for this," he muttered, but he took your hand in his anyway and began pulling you down the sidewalk. You thought it wise to say nothing, just in case your words might somehow make him change his mind. So you followed Sam through the rain-glossed streets, as you would follow him anywhere, anytime, for no damn reason yet every damn reason at the same time.

Sam squeezed your hand, like he was checking to see if you were still there. "Y/N," he said, and you noticed a slight pant in his breath. "I don't think-- I don't think I can wait until we get to the bunker. Besides... Cas is there, and..." He looked down at you, and you saw that he was blushing. "Do you want to just... check in here for the night?"

The two of you now stood outside of a small motel, hiding under the awning from rain, which found you anyway, turning from mist to relentless drops, and pouring through the tips in the cheap fabric. You read the name of the motel and instantly forgot it. It wasn't important. The only thing that mattered, that had EVER mattered, was Sam, and all other things suddenly became blurry to you. No one had warned you that sex would feel this way. Your spirit, the actual you, not your vessel, coursed through the air around you like a multichromatic aura under Sam's touch. The rain was beautiful. The raindrops were diamonds and dazzling and drifting through the hazy plane of your happy consciousness.

"It doesn't matter to me," you breathed, and you clutched onto his hand, feeling the grounding warmth of his calloused palm and letting it fill you with a mix of calm and excitement. "Anything to be with you, Sam," you said.

Sam nodded, even though you didn't expect him to understand how much you meant that last statement. His hand in yours, he led you into the motel check in, where he approached the clerk and asked rather quickly if he had a room open. The clerk, at first a tad annoyed at the two of you dripping all over his carpet, softened his gaze when he looked at you again.

"Of course," he said warmly, smiling at the couple in front of him. You noticed him glance over at a picture on his counter, a picture of him and a woman in a white dress. He smiled at that too. Then, he rifled through a drawer, clicked on his computer a handful of times, and took Sam's money so you could spend the night. "Thank you so much; here's your key," he said kindly, handing a plastic card over to Sam. You hadn't been in a motel with electric key cards in a while. You took note of it for a second before the thought slid away, unimportant. Sam took the key, and with a curt nod towards the friendly clerk, he swept you away, back out of the clerk's building and towards the row of rooms that held the one you'd be staying in for the night. With unshaking hands and a gentle grip, he unlocked the door to your room before holding it open for ou and ushering you in, out of the damp and the chill.

"Y/N," he said, his voice rough, after he closed and locked the door, "I wish..." He pushed against the closed door again. His sincere eyes met yours, and despite the sad look in them, you could see he was entranced by you. "Your first time," he said, and he pulled you against him gently, using your linked hands to pull your bodies together. "It shouldn't be in this, in this motel-- you should be somewhere nice, somewhere clean, and good, and soft, and--"

You got on your tiptoes and kissed his collarbone again to stop him. "Sam, you're clean and good and soft enough for me." You heard him inhale. "For my whole world. I don't care about the motel. I care about you." You weren't quite sure why Sam was upset, but you wanted him not to be. You didn't like the sad moose face. It made you sad too. "Please?" You asked quietly, squeezing his hand and shyly gesturing towards the bed. Sometime between then and when you had the talk, you'd done a little research and learned that people had sex on beds. Also, you'd seen some things that had made you squeak and kick Sam's laptop off of our perch on the sofa, but you were really trying to forget those (so you strived not to recall that specific part of the research session).

You weren't quite positive how it had happened, but the next thing you knew, you and Sam had collapsed on the bed, tangled together in a mess of red fabric and his flannel. You felt your chest heaving, and you worried for a moment that you were somehow asphyxiating until you noticed Sam's chest was doing it too, and he didn't seem at all perturbed. In fact, with lidded eyes and a smile on his lips, he pulled you close to him as you lay atop the scratchy sheets of the motel bed. He wrapped you in a hug, holding you vey tightly for a long minute. "Y/N, you're an angel," he said breathlessly.

You giggled, not understanding that he said it as a term of endearment. "And you're a human?" You responded.

Sam laughed one, pure laugh, low and raspy in your ear. You shivered. "Yes, I am," he said. The he shifted, pulling away from you, a conflicted look on your face. "Y/N," he trailed. "I don't think..."

You felt the concern bleed from your eyes like waterfalls. "Sam, are you okay?"

"I just..." He kissed you then, sweet and slow, like he was trying to transfer all the words he didn't want to say through the vessel of your kiss. You felt something very much like wings unfurl in your heart, and you swore you could feel his touch on your true form, not just on your human vessel. Sam kissed you for several minutes, kissing harder every time you made a noise and rutted your hips against him. "Y/N," he whispered, pulling his lips way from yours and looking at you through his long eyelashes. "Angel, are you sure?"

You giggled, sweet as sugar, and something glittered inside of you, something golden and bright, and you knew somehow, some way, Sam was the reason for it. Sam was the reason for everything. For him to ask you if you were sure only strengthened your convictions and proved to you that Sam was the purest, most wonderful human you'd ever met. You loved Dean. Cared about him greatly, knew his good heart and his sarcastic fronts, his rough exterior. You loved him so much, more than a friend, more than family. You chose him, and he chose you, and you knew that something in your soul was linked to something in his. But the way you felt about Dean was so, so different from what you felt about Sam-- and what you felt for Sam was so incandescent and strong only made it clearer to you that he was special. You loved Dean. No doubt. But not like this, not in a way that made you want to scream and cry and giggle and never let your skin leave his. And that's how you felt about Sam, how you felt whenever you were near him or whenever you were sitting alone at night while the humans slept.

So, were you sure? Absolutely.

"Sam, yes," you breathed, and Sam seemed to lose all of his inhibitions. His lips crashed into yours, and you hoped that this time, he was done protesting, murmuring, trying to protect you. There was nothing to protect you from. It was Sam, all Sam, just Sam, who was everything good and nothing bad to you. The sweetness that had bubbled around the two of you didn't dissipate. It only strengthened, empowered by the raw feeling coming from your gut, burning through your veins. When Sam's hands ran up under your shirt, you moaned into his mouth. You'd never imagined that it would feel this good.

Sam's hands scorching a sugary pathway across your skin were the only real things in the world. He left goosebumps behind when his touch was gone, and you thought you would die if it weren't for the fact that his hands were still on your skin, just elsewhere. If he ever let go of you, you would implode. You kissed him as fiercely as you could to let him know this, but you weren't sure what you were doing and hoped it was right. You meant to ask him several times, but you never got around to it. Every time you tried to steady yourself for it, Sam did something else that bleached your mind, made you forget who you were, what you were, and everything you'd ever been. And you loved him for it. Loved him so entirely, so passionately that your inadequacy couldn't possibly matter to you, because it didn't matter to him.

"Sam," you said against his lips, and you tugged on the hem of his shirt. You were near positive that humans took off all of their clothes during sex, not just their pants. And, for some reason (you weren't quite sure why), the burning inside of you demanded Sam did so, no matter what the human custom. You wanted to see all of him. You wanted to be everything for him, and you needed him to understand that every millimeter of his skin was precious to you. Every muscle beneath his flesh, every bone, every vein. You loved every damn part of him, and always had, through his soullessness, through his addictions, through the apocalypse. It seemed so stupid to think it, but everything in your eternity had truly been leading to this moment, this precipice. You wanted Sam not just for the night, but for yours to keep. You could only hope that he felt the same way. So instead of asking him, and putting yourself even more out there, you tugged on his shirt, letting him know that you wanted him to take it off.

Sam understood. But he didn't start undressing-- instead, his hands smoothed over your back, and he unclasped your bra with ease. You felt a tiny sting of jealousy, because no matter how long you were in a female vessel, you still struggled with that every single night. You felt your sore breasts release from the confining strain of the bra, and that in itself was so pleasurable to you that you wanted to moan again. Sam kissed you, his lips so sure and powerful that you felt he couldn't possibly be human, he HAD to be something more, something infinitely more. Always more.

Sam's lips released yours, and his hands curled around the hem of your dress skirt, and he let it brush up your torso, farther and farther until the ball of nerves in your stomach could hardly take it. When Sam gently discarded your dress and bra on the motel floor, you gasped, because you hadn't realized your skin had gotten so warm until the cold motel air had stolen over your skin, making your nipples harden. Sam inhaled, his warm eyes on your body, and you worried that something was wrong with your vessel. Was she deformed? Was she ugly? Was she not good enough for him? You didn't think anyone could ever be good enough for him.

Sam's lips stopped your worrying at once. His head ducked down, his mouth warm on your breast, Sam made you forget, again, all that existed, save for him. You'd never considered what it would feel like to have someone's mouth on your breast, except for the occasional wince while imagine breastfeeding a child, and you'd never imagined that it would feel so good. Your hands smoothed over the back of his head, fingers knotting in the strands as you held him to you.

"Sam," you gasped.

He stopped near immediately, pulling back, leaving you cold and confused. His worried eyes met yours. "Are you okay?" He asked. You wanted to laugh an incredulous laugh but could hardly manage it. No, actually, you were not okay. You were wonderful. To call what you felt 'okay' would be to do it an injustice. So instead of answering verbally, which you weren't quite sure you could manage anyhow, you nodded vigorously, squirming in your panties and wishing he would stop worrying. Sam kissed you once on the tip of the nose, and this made you giggle breathily.

"Sam, please," you said eagerly, your hand crushing the fabric of his flannel as you tugged on it. Sam kissed the soft skin next to your mouth before letting his hands skim up your body. From the skin of your collarbone, his hands traveled to the top button of his flannel, and he started unbuttoning it. You felt your breathing quicken. You closed your eyes, trying to control the raging heat inside of you you, but it was proving harder and harder to do. Gasping, panting, you tried to distract yourself by the feel of the scratchy motel sheets on your back while Sam unbuttoned his flannel. You couldn't distract yourself for very long at all, but when your eyes fluttered open again, you saw that he was shrugging his flannel off of his body, revealing his bare skin to you. Apparently, he hadn't been wearing an undershirt. You had no idea why that made you even warmer, but it did, and you could hardly contain yourself from latching onto him and never letting go.

Hunters had beautiful bodies. They were strong and lithe, cut and trim, muscular and smooth. Hunters had to be fit if they wanted to survive. It was a truth you'd long recognized, and you'd never given it much thought, not even when Dean sauntered around the bunker after a shower in just his jeans, showing off his trim chest. But now-- now, you were mesmerized, grateful, appreciative of Sam's life choices, because every single one of them had only made him more beautiful. You kissed the tattoo on his chest and imagined that it made you even more a part of him. You trailed your fingers over the expanse of his chest, feeling every curve of his muscles, admiring every inch of his skin. You could see scars from hunts gone wrong, and they only made you prouder of him, proud that he had survived so much and fought so hard and for all the right reasons. You only fell in love with him more for the scars on his body and how he'd earned them. He was so brave. You wanted so badly to stare at him, but you couldn't take the time to.

"Sam, I want to..." you pleaded. "I want you. Please? It's getting... uncomfortable," you said, in regards to the all-encompassing heat of your lower body.

Sam kissed your forehead. "Y/N," he murmured, and he looked at you with so much love and concern in your eyes that you could've sworn you were imagining him, because no one could be so perfect, "if you need to stop, at any time, just tell me--"

"Sam," you begged, and finding a boldness you'd buried deep down inside of your vessel's bloodstream, you moved your hands to the button on his jeans. You heard a woosh of air come from Sam's mouth, and the fact that you'd made him lose his breath either meant you'd done something very wrong or very right. Since Sam's hands had snaked around your back and he'd only pulled you closer, you figured it was okay. You had plenty of practice unbuttoning jeans-- it was impractical to wear the skirts and dresses that Sam and Dean showered you with while you were out helping them hunt. So you unzipped Sam's jeans comfortably, trying to ignore the fact that it was making your heart pound erratically to do so. To center yourself, you planted a sloppy kiss on his lips again, which made him smile against you.

"I love you," Sam murmured, and you felt your heart flip. "I love you so much, Y/N. Please, don't ever forget or doubt that."

"I love you, Sam," you whispered, looking into his brown eyes and nowhere you were precisely at home with him. Then, before you could fully inhale your next breath, Sam was on top of you, shucking his pants off, and you felt yourself seemingly catch on fire, because suddenly there were only two thing layers of fabric separating you from this beautiful, wonderful, perfect being.

Sam realized this too. With sincere eyes, he said, "Y/N, you know that we can stop, if you want to, right? You don't have to--"

"Sam," you laughed, "please, just shut up and have sex with me?"

Sam's eyes swirled, and you felt his fingers dip inside of your panties, feeling your warmth and and making you shudder. He leaned in, his lips pressing against the crook of your neck before he opened his mouth and started sucking on the sensitive skin there, eliciting a sharp moan from your mouth. "Sam," you trilled. He sucked harder on your skin, sliding the soft, cotton fabric of your panties down your skin, until you were completely bare in front of him. You surprised yourself. Despite the fact that it was't really your body, you had expected to be shy, embarrassed. Instead, you hooked your legs around him, crushing your bodies together, which made both of you groan. The vibrations of Sam's deep voice against your skin-- you could feel them in your gut. You sighed, reaching for his boxers. Sam pulled you against him even harder before grabbing them himself, and you felt your heart quiver as the last piece of clothing separating the two of you was discarded.

Sam trailed kisses from the crook of your neck to your collarbone, his mouth warm and sure. You felt him against you finally, and you made a noise very much like a purr. You wanted to look down and see him, see the part of him that you'd never seen before. But you could hardly see, and could hardly focus, because Sam's mouth was trailing down your body, and as he got closer to your core, you stuttered out his name.

"Sam!" You expelled, the word a catch in your throat. He kissed the warm skin at your navel before bringing his head up and looking you in the eye. He smiled at you, and you looked down at him, feeling your chest tighten. You weren't anywhere near educated on the topic of sex, and knew little of male anatomy, but you could clearly tell that he was beautiful. Maybe guys didn't like to be described as beautiful, but that's what Sam was. Every piece of him. And the more you thought about it, the more you realized that he was supposed to fit inside of you, and you couldn't imagine that that was possible.

Sam seemed to be thinking along similar lines. "Y/N," he said softly. "Do you have any idea if your vessel is physically a virgin?"

His voice was husky, deep, and it took you a minute to understand his words because you'd been admiring their sound without comprehending their meaning. Thankfully, you knew for sure how to answer him. "Yes," you said, and you didn't miss that your voice was small and shaky. "Yes, she is... I, uh," Sam brushed your hair aside and kissed the skin behind your ear, which, as it turns out, is a sensitive spot for you. "She was... she was homeschooled, and didn't get much..." you gasped, "... social interaction."

"Okay," Sam said lowly, and he sounded like he was steadying himself. "Okay, Y/N? This might hurt a bit, then," he said.

"Okay," you breathed sweetly, looking up at him like he was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen, because he was. Your trembling fingers smoothed down Sam's warm chest, and you moved down his body, forcing his lips to leave your neck so you could slide down. You kissed the spot where his heart lay, and then a curious fingertip pressed lightly against the tip of his dick. Dean had taught you that that's what people called the male reproductive organ, either that or a cock. You heard a breath shudder out of Sam at your touch. "Did I hurt you?" You asked, withdrawing from him quicker than any mortal could have. The last thing you wanted was for Sam to get hurt. 

"Fuck no," Sam breathed, and he pressed his body against yours, rutting your hips together in a way that elicited a very high-pitched noise from your mouth. You felt the transfer of salty sweat from his skin to yours. You felt something slick rubbing against you, and you made a keening whine as Sam started sucking at your collarbone. "No, baby, you did good. Really good."

You meant to respond, but the words (what words?) got lost in the ocean of Sam's warmth radiating and pulsating all around you. Instead of speaking, you whined again, clutching onto Sam's broad back and instinctively spreading your legs. You jerked up against him, and you felt his dick hard against your tummy. "Sam," you groaned. Your entire lower body was throbbing. Not in control of your own hands, you felt your own fingers exploring inside of your body, pressing against the strangely warm and wet folds at the core of your body.

"Mm," Sam said, his voice muffled against your skin. Where he'd been sucking had started to hurt, but it was the most delicious ache. Sam's hands caught yours, and he pulled your fingers away from your core. You whimpered at this, but Sam kissed your lips sweetly, rocking your hips together once, slowly, tantalizingly, before pulling away and moving himself down your body. 

"Sam?" You didn't know what he was doing. Why was he down there? You didn't know much about sex, but you thought that his dick was supposed to go inside of you. You weren't sure how he was going to manage to do that with his mouth near your sweet spot. "Sam, what are--"

You damn near screamed when Sam's tongue flicked out and smoothed its way over your slit.  _Holy crap._ The sensation zapped through your body like you were electrocuted. You looked down at Sam in a daze, and you saw that he was  _smirking_ at you. Before you could open your mouth again to ask him what he was doing, he spread your legs father apart and pressed his face so deep between them that you felt his nose rubbing on your skin. Sam's mouth opened, and you felt his tongue slick its way past the folds of your most sensitive skin. You thought vaguely that it felt like he was searching for something. It didn't take long before he found it.

When Sam's tongue circled your clit for the first time, you screamed, no inhibitions or muffling about it. Sam laughed against your body, and the vibrations of his laugh made you moan so loudly you were sure the nice motel clerk could hear, even though he was in a different building. Sam's tongue swirled around your clit, two rotations before something serious started to build in your stomach. When Sam slipped a long finger into the hole that lead to your core, you could hardly notice, because  _something_ was happening-- something intense, and burning, and wonderful and horrible and POWERFUL--

You shrieked Sam's name as you came for the very first time. You convulsed, shuddering against Sam's warm mouth, your hands snaking down so your fingers could twist through his chestnut hair and hold him to you. When you finally managed to stop shaking, Sam slowly and gently withdrew from you. You watched him with lidded eyes. His brown eyes glinted at you through messy hair as he made his way up to your lips again. Sam pressed a haphazard kiss to your lips, and you tasted something unfamiliar and heady but not altogether bad on his mouth.  _Is that what I taste like?_ you wondered.

"Y/N," Sam whispered, and you heard a heavy pant in his breath. One of Sam's hands left its place on your hip, and you saw him start to stroke his dick as he spoke raspily to you. "Y/N, are you sure you want me to do this?" He asked breathily. "I don't... I don't have any protection, and I don't know how much you know about pregnancy, but if I--"

"Sam, just fuck me already," you moaned. You were too taken over by sensation to worry if you used the word right. Sam apparently got what you meant, because he kissed you once, softly, quickly, before positioning his hips above you. You felt the tip of his dick press where his tongue had pressed only a moment before, and you inhaled shakily. Sam gently started pushing inside of you. You gasped at the sudden fullness, and when Sam reached a certain point, it started to sting about. You bit your lip and clutched onto him harder. Sam noticed your reaction, and he instantly murmured, "I can stop."

"Just..." You buried your face in his chest. "Just shove it in, I guess. Get it over with." You kissed his skin, licking up a bead of sweat. "I'll be fine."

Sam hesitated, but when you nuzzled your face against his bare skin, he took a breath and then slammed his hips against yours.

You gasped. It hurt, of course. It was your first time, and he was actually rather big. Sam was patient; he peppered your face with kisses as you panted, waiting for the pain to subside before he moved. You breathed out his name, your voice a blissful lilt. Once the pain left, you just felt amazingly full, and to your surprise, the burning lust from the bar had returned, even though it seemed to have just exploded. "Sam, it's okay," you murmured.

"Okay," he whispered back. He moved his face back just enough so he could look you in the eyes as he said, "I love you, Y/N. I love you..."

And then Sam Winchester, the sasquatch moose, who was so strong yet awkward and so big and warm and cuddly and sexy, couldn't help himself any longer. He pulled out of you and then slammed back in, thrusting in and out of your body in a way that made your toes curl and your body arch off of the bed. You mewled. Still murmuring how much he loved you, Sam continued thrusting into your body, pounding you into the mattress so fiercely, yet holding you so gently and tenderly that you felt like every touch was gold, every thrust ecstasy, and every word from his lips a prayer just for you. The two of you moved together, your eager hips rising to meet his thrusts, your bodies tangling together, your mouths exchanging 'I love you's so that every syllable blurred into the next, so you weren't sure who was speaking, just that someone was and you both meant it. After minutes--hours-- _days--_ something inside both of you exploded, and you climaxed, breaking a split second before Sam came inside of you.

You felt the warm fluid inside of you, and you sighed peacefully. You imagined it making its way to your womb, where it would nest and get comfy, and maybe--just maybe-- a little baby would start to grow. But you were getting ahead of yourself-- it was just your first time, and certainly that didn't mean you were an established relationship. You tried to hide your frown and discontent as Sam pulled out of you and kissed your cheek. You couldn't rid yourself of a sinking feeling until Sam spoke again, his voice hoarse.

"Y/N Y/L/N," he murmured, "I love you. With every breath in my body. With every ounce of blood that had ever run through my veins. You... are so beautiful. Inside and out. Your soul, and your vessel. I love you, the angel, the being, the emotions, the breathing, the... I love you.  _You._ And I want to be with you." His breath caught in his chest before he pressed a hesitant kiss to your lips. He pulled away, worry in his eyes. "Do you want to be with me?" he asked, uncertain.

You beamed up at him. "Naturally," you said, and your lips pressed against Sam's in the first real kiss of many to come.


End file.
